Merry Christmas, Clint Barton!
by Spencesttar
Summary: Clint told Natasha he wasn't doing any more missions over Christmas. He filled out the stupid vacation form and everything, except Natasha promised him they would be back by Christmas Eve, and Clint had foolishly agreed. She had kept her promise, true, but Clint doesn't remember how he got the concussion, he doesn't remember what day it is, and he knows he is forgetting something e


Natasha sat in one of the comfy chairs of the Avenger's common room, her feet curled under her, sipping a cup of black coffee. A book sat open in her lap, but she was ignoring it in favor of watching snow fall gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. From the right angle, she could see a reflection of the other Avengers in the kitchen.

She could hear the rustle of Steve's newspaper when he turned the page, the enthusiastic clink of Thor's fork while he dug into his breakfast, and the splash of coffee when Bruce and Tony were refilling their cups.

There was an underlying sense of ease and quiet content.

So it made sense that Clint chose that moment to slide into the living room in his mismatched fuzzy socks and horrendous Christmas sweater, singing "Let It Snow" as loudly as he could. He vaulted over the back of the couch, barely skirting around the coffee table, and stood in front of the window. His nose was practically pressed against the glass, a giant grin on his face when he turned to Natasha. He gleefully said, "It's snowing, Nat!"

"Somebody's chipper this morning," she replied.

"We're supposed to get at least a foot of snow between today and tomorrow," Clint said. "What's not to be happy about?"

Clint moved into the kitchen and pulled a chipped reindeer mug from a cupboard, squeezing between Bruce and Tony to pour himself a cup of coffee. "You know, Tony, this place would be a lot more cheerful if you would let me decorate it for the holidays," Clint said. "All you need is a tree and some lights, maybe a couple of stockings. I bet I could put something together."

"I decorated last year, and my house was blown up," Tony responded. He took a drink before gesturing to a large plastic, light-up Santa Claus that had been secured to the rafters out of reach. "And I did let you decorate."

"If I remember correctly, you threatened to put on your armor and tear it down," Bruce said. "Pepper made you leave it alone."

"Whose side are you on, Bruce?" Tony asked, looking offended.

Bruce shrugged and joined the other men at the table.

"Don't listen to the Scrooge, Bruce," Clint said. "All we need is a tree. Then we can spend Christmas watching wholesome family movies, eating too much food, and pretending we like eggnog. Sounds great, right?"

"Sorry, Clint, but I'll be in the lab all day. I've been preparing for an experiment and am hoping to do a few test trials of it before the end of the month."

"But it's Christmas."

"I haven't done anything for Christmas since I was a kid," Bruce said, shrugging again. "It's just another day for me."

"What about you two, then?" Clint asked Steve and Thor. "Care to join in the holiday spirit?"

Steve shifted awkwardly, lowering his newspaper and looking apologetic. "I have to agree with Bruce. I haven't really celebrated since before the war started. I thought I would check in on a friend, then get some practice in at the gym downstairs."

"As I am not in Asgard to celebrate the Yule, Jane suggested I join her and her family for your Midgardian festival," Thor said, smiling. "But-"

"See," Tony interrupted, "Thor doesn't celebrate Christmas and the rest of us dislike it."

"Tony-" Steve said warningly.

"Fine. I mean the rest of us have never had a good Christmas. Point is, there's no reason to celebrate."

Clint opened his mouth to retort when Natasha's phone rang, cutting him off. His head snapped over to stare at her, glaring as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, said a couple of words, and hung up. She closed her book and set down her coffee. When she turned to Clint, he had his arms crossed stubbornly and a look that said he knew exactly who she was talking to on the phone.

"No, Natasha."

"Clint-"

"I told them I wasn't going on any missions over Christmas! They try to do this every year, Nat."

"I know."

"I filled out that stupid vacation form and everything. So did you. Fury said nobody would bother us."

"There's a situation. Director Fury said he wouldn't have called if it were an option. He said it would only take two days."

Clint sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Two days?" Clint repeated.

"You'll be back by Christmas Eve," Natasha said with a small, hardly perceptible smile.

"Good," Clint said begrudgingly. "Because I have plans. And I don't care if we're in the middle of a mission, I will be back in time for Christmas."

He chugged the rest of his coffee and left, Natasha close behind him.

"You think they'll be okay?" Steve asked, watching the door.

"Of course they will," Tony said. "Clint will shoot anything that tries to get in between him and his Christmas plans."

"I told you we'd be back on Christmas Eve," Natasha said weakly.

She turned in her S.H.I.E.L.D. issued hospital bed, careful not to disturb the IV in her arm, and smiled at Clint. He was leaned over a chair, a bucket clenched between his hands. His face was pale except for the bruising around his left eye and the pink tinge of blood still staining the skin beneath his nose. He offered her a shaky grin and a thumbs up before leaning over the bucket to vomit.

The other Avengers, crammed in the small room, looked on with mixed looks of sympathy and disgust. Tony edging closer to the door while Bruce handed Clint a towel to wipe his face.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

"Mission went sideways," Natasha said. "We were ambushed. Got out eventually, but Clint was hit hard enough to get a bad concussion."

"And Natasha got stabbed," Clint added.

"Shot actually," Natasha amended. "Clean through and through, no major organs. They patched me up in a few minutes and seem to think I need a transfusion."

"You were as white as a sheet when you stumbled into S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Romanoff," a doctor said. She had light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, was wearing a labcoat, and had the look of someone who was used to dealing with disagreeable patients. "I expect that kind of denial from Agent Barton, but I hoped you would be better than that."

"I take offense to that," Natasha said evenly, "I'm a much better patient than Clint."

"Dr. Gustner." She held her hand out to shake Bruce's. "You must be Dr. Banner."

"Pleasure to meet you," Bruce said. "What is their medical status?"

"Agent Romanoff neglected to mention she had lost an estimated 30% of her blood volume," Dr. Gustner said. "Granted, the super-soldier serum in her blood should assist in quick regeneration of red blood cells, but we thought it best to do a transfusion and monitor her tachycardia. Depending on her recovery and tolerance of being confined to the infirmary, she may be able to go home tomorrow. The bullet wound should heal without complication, and we will rely on Agent Romanoff to keep us updated."

"What about Clint?"

"Concussion, mainly. Probably in Agent Barton's top five in terms of severity. He has signs of memory loss, confusion, nausea, imbalance, and difficulty focusing. All things considered, I think this is the most compliant he's ever been in medical."

"You know I'm right here," Clint said, unfocused eyes staring vaguely in her direction.

"I'm not concerned," Dr. Gustner said, a small smile on her face. "You'll likely forget we ever spoke about this."

"So Natasha goes home tomorrow, what about Clint?" Steve asked.

"Normally, I might use this opportunity to keep Agent Barton in medical, maybe try and do some positive reinforcement, but I think it would be best for everyone if you took him back to the tower with you."

"Why is that?"

"To be honest, the infirmary is understaffed because of the holidays, and Agent Barton is a handful on the best of days. He needs to have someone with him constantly for the time being. It might also help his memory lapses to be in a familiar space. Dr. Banner, I trust you know the drill with concussions?" Dr. Gustner said. When he nodded, she added, "Try and get him to drink, IV fluids if he becomes too dehydrated, pain meds, and wake him up every few hours. I'll send you with a medication for the nausea if it persists. You can call if you have any questions."

"Thank you," Bruce said. He shook her hand again, accepting discharge instructions and medications for Clint.

"I'll be back in a few to check on you, Agent Romanoff," Dr. Gustner said. "And to the rest of you, hopefully Agent Barton won't give you too much trouble."

"You know I'm right here," Clint repeated, irritation briefly crossing over his face before he turned green and began heaving into his bucket.

"You'll be fine," Natasha said, settling back into the bed. She had a mischievous look on her face. "Just keep him away from the vents."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Clint furrowed his brow, fingers curling into the purple blanket on his lap, and glanced around the Avenger's common room. He was propped up on cushions in the corner of the couch, dressed in pajamas, and he couldn't for the life of him remember how he got there. Judging by how his head hurt, the difficulty he had focusing, and the way it felt like he was rolling around on an ocean, he would guess a head injury. He shut his eyes when the feeling of vertigo became too much and eventually shrugged. "December 23rd?"

"Close," Bruce said, holding in a sigh. "It's the 24th."

Clint opened his eyes and gave Bruce a goofy grin. "Merry Christmas, Bruce!"

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse," Clint said, sounding tired. "How hard was I hit?"

"We don't really know. Natasha didn't tell us much, but hard enough to give you a concussion. Are you still feeling nauseous?"

"Not really," Clint lied.

"Good." Bruce grabbed a purple sports drink and handed it to Clint. "Drink some of this. We can get you some solid food later if you feel up to it."

Clint nodded. He opened the drink and forced some down under Bruce's watchful eye, willing it not to make a return appearance. He drank almost a fourth of it before putting it down, suddenly hit with the sensation that he was forgetting something.

"I need to go to my room," Clint said, struggling to get up. "I need something in there."

"Hold on a minute, just relax," Bruce said, gently preventing him from standing. "What do you need?"

"I don't know? I can't remember," Clint said. He winced, rubbing the side of his head gently. "How hard was I hit?"

Bruce sighed. "Why don't you go back to sleep. I'm sure whatever you're forgetting can wait."

"That sounds awesome," Clint said, already half-asleep. He burrowed down into the couch, blanket pulled up and covering his face so only his blond hair was visible. "Tell Tasha to wake me up when she gets back."

"Clint, do you know today's date?"

Clint stared around the common room uncertainly. "December 23rd, right?"

Steve shook his head and handed Clint a half-filled bowl of soup. "No, but that's okay. It's the 24th."

Clint grinned, pulling the bowl close to him, and said, "Well then, Merry Christmas, Steve!"

"Do you remember anything from the last couple of days? Anything since we brought you back to the tower?"

"Not really," Clint said. He shifted guiltily, drawing his legs up closer to him. He tried the soup, grimaced after the second spoonful, and set it aside. "How hard was I hit?"

"You have a bad concussion. You've been in-and-out of it all morning. The S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor and Bruce said it might be a while before your memories start to return."

"I hate concussions," Clint groaned. He dropped his head into his hands, taking steadying breaths.

"I take it the nausea has returned," Steve said, picking up the discarded bowl. "I'll put this in the refrigerator in case you want it later and bring out a garbage can in case you need that sooner. Are you feeling okay otherwise? Anything you need in the meantime?"

"I have to do something," Clint said. He sounded unsure, looking to Steve in the off-chance Steve would know what it was he needed to do. "I gotta go somewhere? My room?"

"The doctors said the best thing you can do for a concussion is rest," Steve said. "Whatever you need to do, we can take care of it tomorrow. Maybe your memory will be better by then."

"Yeah, I…I'm sure you're right. Maybe I'll ask Nat. She'll know."

"What day is today?"

Clint hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Come on, Feathers. Between Bruce, Steve, and myself, we've done this probably fifteen times," Tony said. "What day is it?"

"Saturday?" Clint asked. "The 23rd?"

"Wrong, It's the 24th."

"Really? Merry-"

"I swear, if you say 'Merry Christmas' one more time, I'm going to return you to the S.H.I.E.L.D. infirmary," Tony said. He put down the tablet he was working on and glanced at Clint.

"Like they'd take me back."

Tony smirked, signaling for JARVIS to dim the lights when he noticed Clint squinting. "Pretty sure there's a 24 hour return policy."

"What time is it?"

"Almost nine pm," Tony said. He gave Clint a watchful look. "So memory loss is an ongoing issue. Still dizzy? You're looking a little less green around the gills, but that seems more of a waxing and waning sign. If you need to vomit, I'll leave and have Butterfingers come clean it up."

"I'm okay. Exhausted, though." Clint leaned back into the couch, covering his eyes with his arm. "How hard was I hit?"

"Let's just say it's a damn good thing you have such a hard head."

"Hold on, I think I'm remembering something," Clint said, looking at Tony with a gleam in his eye. "I distinctly remember you being an asshole earlier."

Tony laughed. He picked up his tablet and settled back in his chair. "I think you're imagining that, Feathers. Better go back to sleep. Maybe you'll wake up with a better memory."

"Pretty sure I've been sleeping all day," Clint said, though he laid down anyway. "And I think I'm forgetting something important. I gotta-"

"No, you don't need to go to your room," Tony interrupted. "Lockdown is still in effect until you can remember what day it is."

"I'm sure Tasha will break me out of here before then."

Clint woke up to a dimly lit room. He looked around, realizing belatedly it was the Avengers' common room. He was leaned against the corner of the big couch, a large purple blanket he had gotten from Natasha draped across him. His head hurt, and when he sat up, a wave of motion sickness had him closing his eyes.

"You are awake. When the others asked me to keep watch, they told me I need not wake you for another hour," a voice said quietly.

It took Clint a moment to recognize the shadow sitting in the chair across from him, Thor gradually coming into focus. He was smiling, dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt, and holding a book. Clint wasn't sure he would ever get used to the god of thunder in casual clothes.

"What time is it?" Clint asked.

"Late. Near midnight according to the clock," Thor said. "It is up to you whether you wish to sleep or have your memory tested, but perhaps if you answer my question now, you can sleep without interruption for a longer period of time."

"Sure," Clint said. He took the sports drink Thor offered him and drank, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ask away."

"Do you know what the day is?"

Clint took another drink to buy time. He thought it was the 23rd. One of the last things he remembered was reminding Natasha that she promised to have him home by Christmas, except there were warning bells in his head and a feeling of frustration telling him he was wrong.

"I think it's the 23rd," Clint finally said with a shrug, "but I also think I might be wrong."

"You are correct that it is not the 23rd of December," Thor said. "You are close, however. It is the 24th."

Clint grinned. "Merry Christmas, Thor!"

"Merry Christmas to you too," Thor said, smiling back. "How do you feel?"

"Probably better than I was this morning," Clint said. "How hard was I hit?"

"I did not see it, but the doctors suspect you were hit quite hard," Thor said. "It is my understanding that it will take time and rest to fully recover. They say we must all be patient, yourself included."

"I hate concussions. It always feels like you're forgetting something."

"Do you currently feel this way?"

Clint hesitated. Truthfully, yes. He felt like he was forgetting something incredibly important, the reason hovering just out of reach. Like he needed something from his room, but he had no idea what it was. And when he thought about mentioning it, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him not to bother.

Clint was surprisingly good at ignoring those feelings.

"Yeah. I feel like there's something I need in my room," Clint admitted. "I have no idea why."

"Perhaps we should go to your room and see then," Thor said thoughtfully. "If you feel well enough, it may set your mind at ease to discover what, if anything, is causing these feelings."

"Seriously?" Clint said, the tension in his chest easing. "Thank you, Thor."  
Clint moved to the edge of the couch and attempted to stand, quickly sitting down again and resting his head on his hands, swallowing convulsively.

"Are you alright?" Thor asked, moving closer, hands hovering over Clint.

"We're gonna have to take it slow, Big Guy," Clint said. He snagged a bucket near him and pulled it closer just in case.

"Do you require assistance?"

"No. I can do it. I just- I need a minute," Clint said. He took a couple of deep breaths, and slowly rose to his feet, one hand stabilizing himself on the couch and the other clutching the puke bucket. He took a step forward, blanket falling away from him, and stood on his own. His face was a shade paler than when he started, bruises standing out plainly, but he was grinning. "Told you I could do it."

"I had no doubt," Thor said, amused.

They slowly made their way to the elevator, Thor careful to stick close to Clint. Luckily, the door was unlocked and they went inside. Clint looked relieved to be there. He made a beeline for his couch and rested with his head on his knees, mumbling that he needed a minute.

Thor looked around the apartment in wonder. Clint may not have been allowed to decorate the common areas, but he had gone all out in decorating his own apartment. There were lights everywhere that lit up when they entered and a Christmas tree in the corner encircled with multi-colored lights. An odd array of mismatched ornaments and candy canes were hung on its branches, a star perched on the very top of it. A mix of messily and pristinely wrapped presents sat underneath it.

There were Santas, reindeer, and other Christmas themed objects scattered throughout the rest of the room. Some of the decorations were ceramic, some wood, and some Thor didn't recognize the material. The only unifying quality was that it all looked used and rehomed. In one corner, Thor could see a small picture of Clint, Natasha, and Director Fury where Director Fury was grumpily wearing a Santa hat and the other two were wearing reindeer antlers.

"Thor, I think I'm gonna hurl," Clint said, leaning miserably over the bucket. "D'you think you can get me a glass of water?"

Thor nodded, moving quickly to the kitchen and filling a glass with water from the tap. When he passed the fridge he noticed a scrap of paper stuck to the door with a reindeer magnet, the day's date and '7:00' scrawled down on it. He took the note and returned to Clint, watching sympathetically while Clint dry heaved.

"Thanks," Clint said, once his stomach had settled. He took a drink and leaned back into the couch, his eyes closed. "I must have been hit hard. Remind me to ask Natasha about that later."

"I found this note posted in your kitchen," Thor said. He handed Clint the piece of paper. "Perhaps this is what you are attempting to recall?"

Clint took the note, staring at it with a look of concentration. It was a few minutes before something seemed to click, a look of shock passing over his face.

"I gotta go," Clint said urgently. He swayed heavily, but managed to make it to the closet near the door. He pulled it open, roughly forced his arms into a coat, and was struggling into a pair of boots when he lost his balance.

Thor was able to catch him before he hit the ground, keeping a steady hand on his friend's shoulder. "Wait a moment, Clint. What have you remembered?"

"I promised to drop these off today," Clint said, gesturing to a large box neatly stacked with presents. He stared at Thor with wide eyes, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "I promised them I would be there, I can't let them down. We gotta do something, Thor! I can't drive, and-"

"I will assist you," Thor said, giving Clint a reassuring smile. Thor grabbed the box, and nudged Clint's boots toward him. "Steady yourself, we are in no rush. I'm sure these people will understand. As for transportation, I believe Stark has crafted one of his vehicles to be self-maneuvering."

"Indeed, Sir has equipped me to drive in two of his vehicles," JARVIS said smoothly. "I shall prepare the less conspicuous vehicle and have it waiting for you in the garage. Where shall I direct the car to take you?"

"Greenside Group Home for Children," Clint said.

"Very well, sir."

Clint refused to meet Thor's eyes as they entered the elevator, rode it down to the garage and got into a discrete town car. Inside, the motion was enough to make Clint nauseous again, and he had to lay down, his eyes closed and mind focused on the rolling of his stomach. There was a nervous energy about him when the car reached their destination, and Clint hesitated briefly before leading Thor up to the darkened doorstep.

Clint rang the doorbell, shuffling from foot to foot. His breath was visible in the cold air, his nose and cheeks already red. His eyes flickered between Thor and the door, and before it opened he said, "Thank you, Thor."

"Clint Barton? What are you doing here? It's past midnight. And who is this?"

"I'm so sorry, Maggie," Clint said. "I guess I was supposed to be here earlier. I have a concussion, and I can't remember anything before the 23rd. This is Thor, he helped me remember and get here."

Thor smiled and waved at the middle-aged, black haired woman standing in the door. She had a stern look on her face, lips narrowed into a thin line, but there was an amused quirk to the corners of her mouth.

"You could have come in the morning," she said.

Clint tilted his head, a surprised look on his face. He smiled sheepishly. "Santa always comes at night?"

Maggie laughed, stepping back to let them in. "Thirty minutes," she said. "You and your elf can take a seat in the living room, I'll wake up the children."

Clint nodded, leading Thor into a large room with several sofas and old chairs. A tree was set up in the corner, a small pile of presents sitting under it. Clint took a seat and motionedd for Thor to sit next to him. They pulled presents out of the box and stacked them in a pile, not having to wait long before children started sleepily shuffling down the stairs.

They entered the room, their eyes lighting up as they saw the two Avengers. There were ten children in total, seven boys and three girls of various ages and appearances. A few of them greeted Clint by name, looking excited as they obediently took their seats.

When the last child had taken their seat, Maggie turned on the tree lights and said, "Luke and Leah, you two weren't here last year, but the rest of you will remember Clint. He's been here a few times since then, but for the last six or so years, he has brought in presents for everyone. Santa Clint came late this year, but he brought an elf to help. And I know you are all excited, but please be quieter as it is late and Clint has a headache."

Thor watched as over the next fifteen minutes, Clint handed out presents and the children opened them to find personalized gifts. They were grateful for what they had been given, a glimmer in their eyes at having received something special and something that was solely for them. Clint gave each of them attention, asking questions and listening raptly to their stories.

Clint looked happy.

And despite Maggie's warning, it was an hour before everything started to settle down. Clint had at some point earlier, huddled the children around Thor and had the god tell them stories of Asgard while Clint signed with one of the younger girls and showed her how to work her new Stark brand hearing aids, which were similar to his own. One by one, the children said their thanks and went to bed. It wasn't until the last boy was ushered away from Thor by Maggie, his wide eyes full of adoration, that Thor noticed Clint had fallen asleep propped up in the corner of a sofa.

"Thank you for everything you've done today," Maggie said softly. "I'm sure it wasn't the smartest option considering Clint has a concussion, but the kids appreciate it."

"Clint is more stubborn than most. I think it would take more than a concussion to dissuade him from coming."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Maggie said. She chuckled and sat next to Thor.

"How did you come to meet him?"

"I've worked here a long time," Maggie said. "Clint came here when he was maybe eleven years old. Child Protective Services got a hold of him somehow and saw that he was a runaway from Iowa. Clint said he was living with the traveling circus that was set up the next town over, but since none of them could legally claim him, he was placed under my care until CPS could contact his old social worker. He was here for a week and a half before he disappeared on me. Gone in the middle of the night. He must have gotten help from his brother, but I never found out how they did it."

"He has never spoken of this."

"No. He wouldn't" Maggie sighed. "He got in touch with me a few years back, said he remembered how nice I was and wanted to do something for us. This has been a tradition ever since."

"I am glad to join you in your tradition this evening," Thor said. "It has been a pleasure."

"You are welcome here anytime," Maggie said. She patted him on his shoulder and rose to her feet. "But if I were you, I'd head home, wherever that is. These sofas are terrible to sleep on."

Thor nodded and moved to the sofa, carefully waking Clint up. The archer's eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on his surroundings with a look of confusion.

"Thor? What are we doing here?" Clint asked.

"Are you aware of what day it is?" Thor asked.

"Must be the 24th if I'm at Maggie's place," Clint said drowsily.

"Close, my friend, but it is the 25th."

"Huh. Merry Christmas, Thor."

Thor helped Clint to the car and back into the tower, taking him to his room instead of the common room. Clint collapsed on the couch soon after they got inside, his head smushed into the pillows. Thor dimmed the lights and took a seat in one of the chairs to keep watch again.

"Thank you, Thor."

Clint's quiet voice made Thor look up. Clint's blue eyes were looking at him, full of sincerity.

"I remember some of today. Not very much, but some," Clint said quietly. "And I know that nobody else is excited about Christmas. I get it. To be honest, I never had any good memories of Christmas growing up. But I like decorating for it. I like the silly songs and weird cartoons, I like getting Natasha gifts and watching her roll her eyes, and I like how everyone seems to be happier. I like sharing this holiday, because I made it my own. And you're the only one besides Nat who wanted to celebrate with me."

"It was my pleasure," Thor said solemnly. "Merry Christmas to you, Clint."

"Merry Christmas to you too."

Clint closed his eyes and fell asleep. When he awoke a few hours later, he was met with the sight of Thor smiling at him. The god dragged him into the common room where the other Avengers were waiting, looking somewhat guilty.

The common room was decorated with garlands and lights; Santas, reindeers, and snow globes covered every available surface. And in the center of the room sat a Christmas tree glittering with purple lights.


End file.
